


A Rich Wife

by FreedomWriter



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: But there's going to be a lot of angsting, Colonel Fitzwilliam needs some love, F/M, Happy Ending, I suck at tagging, I've been reading too much Regency romance, Le Bon Ton, Multi, Now it's the Colonel's turn, Romance galore, The Darcys are married, after the novel, also a lot of dancing, and bitching, haha no such thing, i love romance fiction, now what, so i'm writing one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 22:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9680840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreedomWriter/pseuds/FreedomWriter
Summary: Gratitude and esteem were good foundations for Elizabeth's regard for Mr Darcy, but Lady Viola Morton, daughter of the Marquess of Rotherham, needed to be grateful only to her Heavenly and earthly fathers, and her esteem was hard-won.How is her heart to be won? And why will the Colonel not try?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I've finally decided to wade into writing on AO3! This is NOT my first fanfiction, but it IS my first Jane Austen fic. She's far and away my favourite writer; I'm trying to respect her while playing out my fantasies at the same time. Wish me luck!

It is a fact commonly acknowledged that the younger son of any respectable gentleman- even a great lord- must be in want of a _rich_ wife.

The Honourable Colonel Fitzwilliam had been exceedingly lucky that, in all his thirty years, he had never formed any _tendresse_ for a woman that had not been easily overcome by time, distance, or other circumstances- usually pecuniary. This fact did not trouble him overmuch, for he very much desired to make his fortune before placing his heart at the feet of any young lady, ready to be broken from material considerations.

The Colonel was a rational man, less governed by flights of passion than by his reason and sense of honour. That he had a warm heart, no one who knew him could doubt; his fair cousin-in-law (“Though I shall ever claim you as my sister.”) was endeared to him by the vivacity of her looks and the wit of her conversation; but in his wife, he sought something a little different.

“She should have conversation, certainly,” He had told his cousin Fitzwilliam over a drink in the library one night. “But also a value for silence, as I do; I have often observed that silence speaks just as eloquent a language as the finest poetry, and I should be glad of a woman with an understanding of both.”

He could foresee many such conversations in his immediate future; _one_ wedding always made everyone look for another, and on the occasion of a _double_ wedding, he shuddered to think of the young damsels and matchmaking mammas who would be watching every eligible man like hungry hawks. Fortunately (for the first time), he was unlikely to be of much interest to them, but it was always best to be on one’s guard. A connection to an Earl, even if there was little money in it, would not be sneezed at by a very determined (or very desperate) lady.

At any rate, it would all be over in just over three weeks, and he would perhaps then visit Matlock Hall to see his brother. Christopher had written last week, after all, and his father would not be sorry to see him either…

\--

The Lady Viola Morton had acquired something of a reputation among the members of the _ton_ in London. Not eccentric, not silly, and certainly not vulgar- the daughter of the Marquess of Rotherham was one of the most charming young ladies to be met with anywhere in England, and so very accomplished as she was! No, she was charming; but she had the alarming habit of- of _bluntness_. It would have been diverting if she were still a _young_ lady, but in a woman of five-and-twenty, with several seasons under her belt, the effect was… uncomfortable. One really did not know how to look when she had, for instance, politely informed Mr Ainsley that his frequent visits to the brothel were showing on his skin. Certainly Mr Ainsley’s libertine ways were the subject of many a household harangue, but to actually throw them in his face! The sheer embarrassment!

“If a man wishes not to have his follies laid bare, he should maintain _some_ level of discretion. But it would be better if he gave up associating with me, and if that is accomplished, I regret nothing at all.” Was all the lady in question had to say about it.

She had little fear of what Papa would say; he had as little patience with ill virtue or folly as she did. Mr Ainsley may count himself fortunate; Papa would have been infinitely worse.

She was now interested in the news that was slowly filtering around London, breaking many a heart as it did. Mr Darcy had at last settled on a bride- and a country girl at that. Viola had had a good laugh, alone in her room. Darcy and his country miss! She wished she might know the story, for a more proud man she did not know (aside from Papa, of course, but no one was like Papa at all). To have been caught- if that had indeed been the case- to have been snared by country wiles and a pretty face, what a fall for Fitzwilliam Darcy!

The wedding was to be in Hertfordshire, of all places- not a place Viola had ever heard of, not that she would have cared for it if she had. It seemed that the future Mrs Darcy hailed from there. A very civil invitation- more than civil, a very pretty letter indeed- had come from Mr Darcy himself. He had addressed himself to Papa, had begged him to grace the occasion with his presence along with his amiable daughter (who laughed to think what the epithet had cost the gentleman) and her companion, Miss Ashton, and had dutifully asked that his regards be passed on to both ladies. In short, everything proper was said, the invitation was prettily given, and Papa, his complexion slightly purple, had written a most gracious acceptance.

“A _country girl_!” He had expostulated, when that distasteful task was done. “A _Miss Elizabeth Bennett,_ when _Lady Viola Morton_  was on offer!”

Whatever Papa chose to think- and he knew the truth, no matter his grumbling- Viola had never nursed the smallest _tendre_ for Mr Darcy. _Her_ pride made her all too aware of _his_. Her lineage was a matter of intense pride, and his was nothing to turn up one’s nose at either. The Darcy name, so far, was unstained and proud; she wondered how his country bride would affect it.

Her value for lineage notwithstanding, Viola was not blind to the claims of honour and character. It may well be that the new Mrs Darcy was an elegant- by country standards- and intelligent woman, with a sincere affection for England’s most eligible bachelor that was returned.

Lady Viola sighed, turning her thoughts from the matter. A new eligible bachelor would emerge, after a brief mourning period, for all the ladies to set their caps at; but she remained, as she had for nigh on six years, the most eligible young lady in the country, and no closer to being wed.

Not that she needed to; as her father’s lone child, she had no need for marriage as a security, save against society, and when one was as rich as she-! Neither, in her five-and-twenty years, had she felt the need for such companionship as marriage offered. But Papa had made it clear that he would like to see her honourably wed, and so she must marry, for his sake.

One condition only had she set before him.

_“I will not marry where I do not love, Papa. That is all I say.”_

She wondered why he had agreed.

Another sigh escaped her. They departed for Hertfordshire in two weeks; in the morning, she would tell Mary to send her pink silk gown to be cleaned, and perhaps a new underdress could be made. It would be the very thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Viola and Miss Emily Ashton arrive in Hertfordshire.

Never before had Viola travelled so far from London. To Yorkshire and Bath, certainly, and she had even been to France and Italy, but the English countryside was more foreign to her eyes than Paris. The Marquess had reached Hertfordshire three days previous, but his daughter and Miss Ashton were attended by a manservant and their maids, and were very well supplied.

Miss Emily Ashton, a distant cousin of Viola’s and currently serving as her companion, was clearly gratified by all that she beheld from the window of the chaise. Her eyes were fairly sparkling as she took in the scenery. Viola had to admit, it _was_ very pretty. Even fatigued as she was, she could appreciate it.

“So lovely!” Miss Ashton remarked, turning her face from the window. She regarded Viola with a tender eye. “But you are not looking quite well, my dear! Shall we stop at the next inn we pass? We may hire a private parlour or perhaps a bedchamber, where you could rest.”

“No- oh, no.” Viola demurred, sitting up from the semi-reclining position she had held for hours. “I am not used to travelling for so long, that is all. Indeed, Emily, you know how I become on journeys to Yorkshire. A trifle stiff, and fagged, but I had much rather complete our journey as soon as may be.”

Emily looked a little doubtful. “To be sure, my lord was insistent that we reach Meryton as early as possible. But we could very well go at an easier pace if you are not-”

“Pray do not consider me such a poor creature!” Viola interposed, a little miffed. “I will be very well presently, and at any rate, I can certainly stand a journey of twenty-five miles without having the headache, or needing a respite halfway! I am not so delicate as you think, Emily!”

The peevish tone in which this was spoken might have provoked a lesser woman than Emily Ashton. She, however, only rearranged the shawl about her shoulders and smiled faintly at her friend’s words. “I could never think you _delicate_ , dear.” She replied mildly. “Rather, I am convinced you would _ride_ to Meryton rather than travel in a- a _‘horse-pulled box’_!”

There was a moment of silence; then Viola burst out laughing. “Oh dear!” She gurgled, her dark eyes sparkling. “Did I really malign poor Papa’s favourite vehicle in so base a manner?”

“Indeed you did. I have rarely seen him so put out; to call it a _box_ , Viola, you must own, was too much!”

“ _Poor_ Papa!” Viola repeated, her lips still curved into an infectious smile. “I shall make it up to him at Meryton. And to you too, dear Emily, for being the worst of travel companions today. I beg your pardon!”

“Well, I own you might have been a little more cheerful,” Miss Ashton admitted, with admirable candour. “But it was only the last hour and a half, you know, and I was very happily occupied in observing the scenery outside. You must own it is very pleasing, Viola.”

“It is, indeed, though I have seen very little of hill and wood aside from home and Pemberley, and nothing can compare to _that_.”

“It is fortunate, then, that that is to be the marital home.” Emily observed. “I am sure I do not know where else a girl might be as happy, having been raised in these environs.”

Viola’s ears fairly pricked up. “ _These_ environs? Are we close, then?”

“Oh, I think so, for I just saw a marked tree that Mr Darcy told the Marquess to watch for, and he told me of it, thinking that you would be asleep so far into the journey.”

“Oh, thank heaven! I quite long to stretch my legs, and am ravenous to boot. Do you suppose the inn will be up to the mark?” Viola arched an eyebrow sardonically. “One never knows what might be met with outside of London.”

Miss Ashton’s composure suffered no change in the face of her lady’s tone. “I am sure it will; if not, doubtless Lord Morton would have made arrangements for you elsewhere.”

“For us.” Viola corrected absently; she was gazing out of the window herself. Emily regarded her with a gentle smile.

“Precisely what I meant, of course.”

\--

The Marquess of Rotherham was affable enough to receive them himself, and judging by his countenance (and the lack of alternate arrangements), the inn seemed perfectly in order. Viola very properly kissed his cheek when they were in the dining room. “You seem to approve of this place, Papa.” She remarked. “I gather it is not savage then.”

“Well, it isn’t what you’re used to, my dear.” The Marquess replied. “And I do mean _you_. Miss Emily,” He bowed civilly. “Has done more than her fair share of travelling, and god knows I have too. It’s really you that’s the greenhead here. And as Experienced in these things, I’ll tell you frankly not to act the Great Lady with them! Being too high in the instep won’t do you good here, my child; I daresay they’ve had enough of that from Darcy!”

Viola coloured; it was just like Papa to treat her like a misbehaving child at times. However little she might like her rustic surroundings, she was not so vulgar as to show herself displeased!

“Upon my word, Papa,” She exclaimed, “I am _not_ Mr Darcy, and am certainly not above being pleased at all times! I am sure I will find Meryton very tolerable.”

My lord harrumphed. “Well, do not let me keep you from your supper, my dears.” He said. “I am sure you must be hungry. The partridge is particularly good.”

“Thank you, Papa.” Viola bowed her head. Miss Ashton too murmured her thanks.

The Marquess left them in favour of his bed, and the two ladies immediately sat down to a very satisfactory supper. Even if Viola was so hungry that she would have relished anything (within reason), she found the food unexceptionable. The partridge, as Papa said, was delicious; and there was a delectable soufflé to enjoy at the end of the meal.

“I declare, Emily,” She said later, sated and sleepy. “If this is the standard of food to be expected here, I am perfectly content.”

Miss Ashton laughed softly, unpinning her hair. “I am glad to hear it, my dear.”

“I have a good mind to steal their pastry-chef. Such a _divine_ soufflé- I am so happy, because I love soufflés, you know.”

“I certainly do.” Emily regarded her friend with deep fondness. Viola was never dearer than when she lost the stiffness of the Lady.

“I hope she makes good ratafia cakes.” Viola’s eyelids were getting heavier by the minute; perhaps that last glass of wine had been one too many. “Ill fortune made me taste one at Lord Shrewsbury’s; it quite broke my heart.” Her maid, Mary, helped her into her nightgown, having already unpinned and brushed out her hair. “Thank you Mary.”

“We shall find a pastry-chef whose confections please every wish of your heart, my love, but on the morrow. Now, you need to sleep.” Emily firmly steered Viola, who looked to be asleep where she sat, into bed, and pulled the covers over her. “Goodnight, my dear.”

“Goodnight Emily.” The garbled mumble was nearly lost to the darkness as Miss Ashton extinguished the candle.

\--

“Darcy, are you sure you would not rather wear the–”

“I am absolutely, utterly and completely sure, Richard, as I have told you _five times already_!”

The Colonel heaved a huge, melodramatic sigh. “Well, if you will persist in your ignorance, I have nothing more to say.”

“I certainly hope so.” Elizabeth, to her credit, only smiled (as opposed to laughter) at her fiancé’s mutter, which Colonel Fitzwilliam could not have heard. He grinned at her as though he knew what his cousin had said, anyway; and he might, indeed.

“I will never understand your fondness for that rather tame hat.”

“And I will never understand your predilection for dandyism, and did you not say you would keep your silence?” Darcy countered, drawing Elizabeth’s arm more firmly through his own.

The Colonel affected affront. “I! A Dandy! Perish the thought! I will have you know, cousin, that a slightly modish hat does _not_ a Dandy make- and I did not say that. I only said that I _had_ nothing to say, and now I have found something.” This was too much; Elizabeth could not keep her countenance, and began to laugh. The Colonel’s eyes twinkled. “My fair cousin agrees with me, you see.”

“Oh yes, she does.” Darcy replied testily. “Upon my word, between her, Georgiana and your scapegrace self, am I to be stripped of all dignity?”

“Oh no.” Colonel Fitzwilliam poured himself another measure from the decanter. “London will do that well enough. That is all the reason I am placing myself in that dratted place for the Season, you know.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “And not to find a wife, Colonel? Is that not why the members of the _ton_ flock there?”

“Ah, my dear, you must not attribute such honest motives to Richard.” Darcy said. “He seldom goes to London; when he _does_ , it is only to raise hopes in the bosoms of those eyeing the Matlock family, and then be pleased to dash them.”

“Indeed? How uncharitable of you, Colonel.” Elizabeth remarked, her eyes dancing.

“He is mistaken, my dear.” The Colonel took a sip. “That honour rests with my brother. I go only to be bored, an art like any other.” Elizabeth laughed, and Mr Darcy smirked. “By the by, Darcy, who was that elderly gentleman who visited you two days ago? A guest, I presume?”

“Ah, that would be the Marquess of Rotherham, Lord Morton. A very old friend of my father’s; he and his daughter, Lady Viola, are our guests for the wedding.”

The Colonel’s eyebrows climbed high on his forehead. “ _The_ Lady Viola?”

Darcy reddened. “The very one.” He replied stiffly.

Elizabeth, looking form one man to the other, became very curious. Who was this Lady Viola Morton, and why did she merit the significance with which Colonel Fitzwilliam mentioned her, and the reddened countenance of her fiancé? It was all a very enticing mystery.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Viola and Miss Emily meet (and are intrigued by) the new Mrs Darcy. A certain scapegrace cousin is also introduced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the lovely Jen, who is that very special thing to any author- my first reviewer. Hope you enjoy this one, dear!

A wedding was no easy thing to arrange, and a _double_ wedding… well, the brides’ mother was certainly a force to be reckoned with. Beside her, Emily looked admiringly at the bride standing beside Mr Bingley.

“She is really too beautiful for words.” She sighed. “London would have been in uproar, should she have ever made her début there.”

“Well, they will still have their chance.” Viola said dryly. “If for a different reason. The new Mrs Darcy is not at all what anyone would expect.”

“No, indeed, although I think she is quite pretty in her own way.” Emily remarked. “She reminds me of you, my dear.”

“Of me!” Viola knew not whether to be insulted. “Pray elucidate, my dear Emily, for I am quite at a loss to know your meaning. I should never have considered that Mrs Darcy had anything in common with _me_.”

“Well, to begin with, you have a similar kind of beauty.” Emily smiled. “You are both dark-haired and dark-eyed, although she is a mite more tanned than you are.”

“Doubtless country folk eschew the use of parasols. But what else?”

Emily tilted her head, considering the younger bride. She was smiling mischievously up at her husband; for his part, Mr Darcy’s face was absent of its customary stoic expression. As they watched, he threw his head back at and laughed heartily, doubtless at something his bride had said, for she too was shaking with laughter.

“I see little of the circumspect in her manner.” Emily said at length. “She speaks freely and with no… no fear. Rather like you. And she has no inbred awe for rank and status- she treats Mr Darcy as you do, as her equal.”

“Not quite as I do.” Viola’s tone was very dry indeed. “I, as you can see, am not married to him.”

“But you understand me?”

“Indeed I do. She speaks to him without the deference, the awe of the Darcy name, that everybody in London seems to think necessary. I admire that.” Viola smiled, seeing Emily’s doubtful look. “Oh, come, my dear. Anyone who can treat Mr Darcy so _is_ worthy of some admiration.”

“They look to be very much in love.” Emily noted, almost wistfully.

Viola took her friend’s arm. “Oh yes, they do. There, if nowhere else in the world, there is genuine affection. It’s quite affecting.” The amused tone of her voice caught Emily’s attention.

“You seem to think it diverting.”

Her ladyship shrugged. “I suppose I do think it so, but I know little about the matters of the heart, and doubtless it is my inexperience talking. But I do have the greatest horror of such precious feelings being on public display. I cannot abide it, truly.”

“For shame, Viola, it is _their_ wedding.” Emily remonstrated. “They must be allowed to smile and laugh as they please, at least on this day!”

Viola could not suppress a chuckle as she watched the expressions play out on the face of the young Mrs Darcy. “Do you think that she will ever learn to dissemble?” She shook her head.

There was a sudden explosion of music as a hired orchestra began to play, and everyone cheered. Emily winced subtly at the noise.

“Country enjoyments, I suppose.” Viola raised her eyebrows. “Mr Darcy must have changed a great deal, if he enjoys _this_.”

“You’ll do well to keep a civil tongue in your head, child.” My lord's brow was clouded as he regarded his daughter. “We are here as his guests.”

Viola reddened. “You are right, sir. I beg your pardon.” Emily shook her head.

They approached the bridal party, and all eyes were on the Marquess. He bore the attention in the manner of a man long accustomed to it; his daughter, too, did not so much as glance about her.

Mr Darcy caught sight of their party, and immediately drew his bride forward.

“Darcy, my boy.” My lord boomed. “My heartiest congratulations on this joyous occasion. My old friend would have been proud indeed.”

“Your lordship is too kind. You are welcome, sir.” Darcy bowed. “Lady Viola, Miss Ashton, it is a pleasure to have you both here.” He turned to his young bride, eyes softening as they took her in. “May I introduce my wife, Elizabeth; Lizzie, my love, Lord Morton, Marquess of Rotherham, his daughter Lady Viola Morton, and Lady Viola’s cousin, Miss Emily Ashton.”

Viola regarded her curiously, this woman who had captivated the country’s most eligible. A slip of a girl she seemed, but in the dark eyes sparkled a decided intelligence. Uncommonly lovely, those eyes were- large and almond-shaped, with long lashes, under brows that seemed to have been painted by a master. The curls under the rim of the bonnet informed her that her hair was dark, and her skin, while a little tanned, was nothing she need be ashamed of. But a diamond of the first water she was not, and Viola knew that London’s confusion was not likely to abate when the new Mrs Darcy came to town.

“Madam, your servant.” To hear him speak, no one would have guessed that the Marquess had spent a good hour gnashing his teeth over this woman’s existence. He bowed over her hand, and smiled at her affably. “I wish you all happiness.” He said. “You will be the happiest of women.”

“I thank you, my lord.” Elizabeth replied. “We are honoured by your attendance.” She addressed all of them.

“Oh, how could we not?” Viola shook her head. “Father has known Mr Darcy since he was a boy, and the kindest and most attentive of playmates.” She twinkled at Darcy. “I wish you both great joy. I am sure you will be extremely happy.”

“What is left for me to say, but that I join my companions in wishing you joy, Mr Darcy?” Emily smiled at the younger woman. “Viola and I are very pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am.”  
“And I yours.” Elizabeth returned. “My husband has spoken of you, Lady Viola. I understand that you grew up together?”

“Yes, for a time.” Viola answered. “Until he went to Eton. Have you been to London, Mrs Darcy?”

“Only thrice, I am afraid. I have an uncle, my mother’s brother, who lives there. Jane and I-” Viola followed her gesture to the other bride who stood with Mr Bingley some way off. “- have been to visit him sometimes.”

“Indeed? Where does your uncle live?”

Elizabeth gazed at her steadily. “Gracechurch street. In Cheapside, Lady Viola.”

Well! Viola felt one of her eyebrows rising, almost of its own accord. "I see." She inclined her head to Mr Darcy, whose eyes had narrowed. "Your bride will no doubt enlarge your already considerable knowledge of London, sir."

"I have been to Mr and Mrs Gardiner's home, Lady Viola." He replied cuttingly. "I find them to be very genteel, respectable people indeed, the sort of relations anyone would be proud of."

Elizabeth laid a hand on his arm, but he bristled at Lady Viola nonetheless.

Viola considered him, his defence of his wife's trader relations. Here was something strange! She had, after all, known him a long time, and though in recent years they had grown apart, she remained firm in her high opinion of his abilities and judgement. A man of his abilities would not be derailed merely by a pair of lovely eyes, or a pretty figure. No, this Mrs Darcy was something else altogether, and Viola, idly curious, wanted to know what it was.

"You must forgive me; I had not meant to imply anything untoward about Mrs Darcy's relations." She said gravely. "I have never been to Gracechurch Street, Mrs Darcy, and I have only heard of Cheapside in passing. But I should not have let my tongue run away with me- a childhood fault. I beg your pardon."

"It is forgotten, Lady Viola." Elizabeth was quick to demur.

Viola smiled in her most engaging manner. "Then you will not object to my calling on you when you come to London? I should dearly like to see you there." 

"How could I object to such kindness?" Elizabeth smiled, her eyes watchful. "I should like it very much as well."

  
"Now _that_ is all settled, at least." My lord snorted. "Viola, m'dear, do you intend to plan the entire Season here and now?"

"Oh no, father, only the first week." Viola said demurely. He snorted indulgently, shaking his head at Darcy.

"Women _will_ be concerned with these things, my lord." He smiled tenderly at his bride. "As I have come to learn. I believe Elizabeth has made a list of the places she intends most positively to see before the Season is up."

"You'll find yourself gallanting her all over town if you're not careful, lad! You've much to learn about the things ladies concern themselves with- unless you take a firm hand with 'em." My lord chortled.

"I know one close relative who would agree with you." Darcy had scarce spoken these words than a tall figure appeared at his side. 

"Very true, coz, but what would I agree about?" The Colonel twinkled at Elizabeth, who dissolved into laughter.

Darcy merely sighed. "Heel, scapegrace. My cousin, sir, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Richard, this is the Marquess of Rotherham, Lord Morton; his daughter, Lady Viola, and her cousin, Miss Emily Ashton."

"How do you do, sir?" He bowed smartly to my lord. "Ladies, I am honoured."

Viola caught the sparkle in his eye, and bit back a similar smile of her own. She joined her voice with Emily's, murmuring her pleasure at making his acquaintance.

"Fitzwilliam, eh? You'd be Matlock's son then?" My lord enquired.

"His younger son, sir." The Colonel replied. He could not help glancing again at the Lady Viola, and was met by a surprisingly direct gaze.

Egad, here was a woman he’d not wish to cross! Not merely because of Darcy’s stories, hair-raising though some were. No timid eyes, those. Not but what she was an uncommonly pretty woman, and that cousin of hers-! A rare beauty, that one!

For her part, Viola was equally caught up in contemplating their new acquaintance. He was not the handsomest man Viola had ever met- Lord Cooper was _marvellously_ good-looking- but he had energy, and presence, and a certain animation of eye that proclaimed him to be of superior intellect. He wore a black coat, and his cravat was tied in a simple, elegant fashion; his clothes proclaimed his age as much as his face, which was slightly weather-beaten from what she guessed must be a number of years in His Majesty’s service.

“You have forgone your ‘modish’ hat, I see.” Darcy observed dryly.

“It did not suit my coat; and Hansen's boy seemed to appreciate it better. It belongs to him now.” Richard replied, grinning at Elizabeth.

My lord looked a little amused. “Excuse me, madam; the ladies and I should meet Bingley and his bride. Gentlemen.” He inclined his head to them, bowed over Elizabeth’s hand, and swept in the direction of the other couple. Viola and Emily curtseyed.

“Father is imperious.” Viola murmured, smiling faintly. “Mrs Darcy, we are at your service in London. Mr Darcy- my compliments. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Colonel.” She curtseyed gracefully to Elizabeth, as did Emily, and they both extended a hand to the gentlemen.

“Lady Viola,” The Colonel gave her a charming smile. “It was an ambition realised.” He took her hand, and bowed over it.

“What ambition, sir?”

His eyes twinkled at her again. “To make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

Her lips curved into a delighted smile. “You give me too much credit, sir. But I thank you nonetheless.”

Elizabeth watched the two ladies sweep away in the Marquess' footsteps. “It was kind of them to come.” She observed, watching Mr Darcy closely.

He seemed not to notice her scrutiny. “Indeed, my love. I am glad of it. The Marquess was my father’s very dear friend, and the late Marchioness, my mother’s.”

The Colonel had a roguish edge to his smile. “Their daughter seems a very charming lady, indeed, coz. Hardly the hoyden you described.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “She is very proud, Richard.”

“Well, one can hardly expect Rotherham's daughter to be a model of humility.” He reasoned. “Arrogance and pride are very different things, my dear.”

“That is very true.” Elizabeth conceded, squeezing her husband's arm, smiling sweetly up at him.

Viola, whose acquaintance with Mr Bingley was very slight, had joined her father in wishing him and his- admittedly exquisite- bride happiness, before retiring to a seat with Emily.

A slight frown marred Miss Ashton's pretty face. “You seem… strangely interested in the new Mrs Darcy.” She ventured.

My lady merely adjusted her bonnet. “Do I?” She smiled faintly. "I am not _officious_ , am I, love? I have no wish to appear so."

"Not at all." Emily assured her. "But I have never seen you take such an interest in anyone before. I wish you will tell me why."

Viola smoothed her gown. The dimple on her cheek quivered with mischief as she smiled at her friend. "Vulgar curiosity, dear."

"Nonsense." Miss Ashton's delicacy would not allow her to indulge in any more emphatic pronouncement. "Tell me truly, Viola: are you planning to take her under your wing, so to speak?"

"I declare you are omniscient, Emily. Is it not a famous idea?"

"In some ways, perhaps." Emily fixed her friend with a piercing look. "But you do it from selfish motives, dear- Mrs Darcy will be the rage of the town, and to have her under your wing would be most diverting for you, would it not?"

"You know me so well that explanations are redundant." Viola patted her hand. "This season will not be boring, with Mrs Darcy's company."

"Viola, you cannot make her travails your entertainment."

"On the contrary, my dear; she will have fewer travails with me to guide her. No one loses, you see: she will not have to deal so much with the ton, and we will be assured of more amusement than a London season ordinarily provides."

" _You_ will; _I_  cannot take part in this." Miss Ashton declared.

"Upon my word, I do not understand you!" Viola exclaimed. "You would not wish me to leave Lady Anne's daughter-in-law to face the sharks on her own, would you?" The smirk on her face was at odds with the caressing tone of voice with which Pemberley's late mistress was mentioned. Lady Anne, until her untimely death, had been much beloved of a little girl named Viola.

"No, but I would have you help her from purer motives." Emily replied flatly. "You do not need to play the games of the ton, Viola, you are better than that."

"I thank you, I am sure; very well, I shall endeavour to learn purer motivations before Mr and Mrs Darcy descend on the town. If I cannot, then boredom must be alleviated, you know."

"You are impossible!” Emily was too well-bred to throw up her hands, but it was all in her tone of voice. “I will not be teased by you anymore.”

“Your pardon, my love, that was not my intention.”  
\--

  
It was in a mellow mood that my lady made the journey back to London. His lordship accompanied them this time, but spent most of the journey riding alongside the carriage.

His daughter’s request to be allowed to do the same was summarily dismissed: “Court scandal in your own time, madam daughter; there’ll be none on my watch.” But she acquiesced with a good grace, and spent the journey playing cards with Emily, or contemplating the scenery.

Miss Ashton, however, was of the opinion that very little of the environs was truly engraved into her friend’s memory. She was lost in an inner world, while her eyes skated over the outer. Not for the first time, Emily wondered about the parts of Viola that not even she had had the privilege of uncovering, about the woman who played the frivolous Lady at balls and rout-parties, but spent the idle daylight hours sequestered away between the pages of a book. She had seen Viola raise an eyebrow at provincial manners, but the poor and uneducated never received any but kind words from her; had seen her flirting with various fashionable gentlemen season after season, but never commit herself, never lose her heart utterly to even the most eligible parti. Viola had laughed at the blissful state of a newly engaged couple, painting a sardonic portrait of what ten years would bring- but in unguarded moments, had sighed over the tenderness with which one such gentleman led his betrothed to take their place in the dance. Lady Spencer’s educational efforts were as eagerly discussed in the Morton household as town on-dits. Indeed, Emily counted herself fortunate that Viola had taken a liking to her upon visiting her family in Yorkshire; living with the Rotherham family put her in the way of more information than would otherwise be her lot.

In truth, nothing was as interesting as Mrs Darcy's impending visit to London. Viola must certainly feel so; she was as weary of London as she was fond of it. Emily did not think, however, that any discussion on the matter was likely to end more satisfactorily than the first, and so held her peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Do let me know what you think! If I've mangled Ms Austen and her style, TELL ME!


End file.
